Fantasy fiction; Imaginary wars and battles -- Fiction
The sons of Corund raised an uproar at the words of Goldry, loudly
crying that he was the greatest liar and dastard; and all they of
Witchland shouted and cursed in like manner. But Goldry shouted in a
voice like a brazen trumpet that was plain to hear above the clamour
of the Witches, “O Red Foliot, judge now fairly betwixt me and King
Gorice, as thou art sworn to do. Let him show his finger nails, if
there be not blood on them. This fall is void, and I claim that we
wrastle it anew.” And the lords of Demonland in like manner shouted
that this fall should be wrastled anew.
Now the Red Foliot had seen somewhat of what was done, and well was
he minded to call the bout void. Yet had he forborne to do this out
of fear of King Gorice that had looked upon him with a basilisk’s
eye, threatening him. And now, while the Red Foliot was troubled in
his mind, uncertain between the angry shouts of the Witches and the
Demons whether safety lay rather with his honour or with truckling to
King Gorice, the King spake a word to Corinius, who went straightway
and standing by the Red Foliot spake privily in his ear. And Corinius
menaced the Red Foliot, and said, “Beware lest thy mind be swayed by
the brow-beating of the Demons. Rightfully hast thou adjudged the
victory in this bout unto our Lord the King, and this talk of thrusting
of fingers in the nose is but a pretext and a vile imagination of this
Goldry Bluszco, who, being thrown fairly before thine eyes and before
us all, and perceiving himself unable to stand against the King, now
thinketh with his swaggering he can bear it away, and thinketh by
cheats and subtleties to avoid defeat. If, against thine own beholding
and the witness of us and the plighted word of the King, thou art
so hardy as to harken to the guileful persuading of these Demons,
yet bethink thee that the King hath overborne ninety and nine great
champions in this exercise, and this shall be the hundredth; and
bethink thee, too, that Witchland lieth nearer to thine Isles than
Demonland by many days’ sailing. Hard shall it be for thee to abide the
avenging sword of Witchland if thou do him despite, and against thy
sworn oath as umpire incline wrongfully to his enemies in this dispute.”
So spake Corinius; and the Red Foliot was cowed. Albeit he believed in
his heart that the King had done that whereof Goldry accused him, yet
for terror of the King and of Corinius that stood by and threatened him
he durst not speak his thought, but in sore perplexity gave order for
the horn to be blown for the third bout.
And it came to pass at the blowing of the horn that the flittermouse
fared forth again from the booths of the Witches, and going widdershins
round about the wrastling ground returned on silent wing whence she
came.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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